Will You Write Me?

She came toward me.

Smallish, silver-haired, bundled in a sweater, pushing a walker.

I was standing in front of my baubles, preparing my table for a holiday boutique, and she said,

"Hello, you must be Kathy's daughter.  I could see you from a mile away.  You're pretty and sweet, just like your mother."

I blushed and couldn't help myself and gave her a hug.

She was a resident at the beautiful assisted living facility that my mom works at and the host of the holiday fair.

She picked up a few of my vintage pieces and said, "This reminds me of something I would wear when Roger and I went dancing at the halls."  And then proceeded to share a story of 52-years of marriage, 8 children (one in Heaven), multiple grand and great grandchildren, a career at Central High School and a life on a block near Duchesne Academy that included parties, neighborhood walks and more friends (most of which are gone) than she could count.

After making a discerned purchase, she said, "Tell me about you."

And so, I did.  I told her about my husband, my children, my studies, my life as a mediator and now as an educator and a small business owner, my dreams.  And then she asked, "How old are you?"

I said, 42.  To which she replied, "I'm almost 50 years older than you and I can tell you, now is your time.  Don't squander it.  And when in doubt, trust in God."

Right then, other customers made their way to my table and she quietly left. 

Hours passed and I couldn't stop thinking about how honest and direct and well, how much ground we covered in a short conversation.  I just wanted to scoop her up and find a little coffee shop to talk more.  And then, I felt sad, remembering my own grandparents and I'd wished that I'd probed them more about their lives and lessons learned. 

And then, not long after, she reappeared.

"I was wondering," she asked shyly, "If you would write me?  I feel like you're more of a writer than a jewelry seller and well, maybe, we could be pen pals?  I have the time.  I'm sure you don't.  But I could teach you what I know."

I stood still and said, "Yes. I'll send a letter this week.  Here's my business card, so you can write, when you like."

As I was loading up my car, I began composing my letter,

Dear Esther,

Thank you for taking the time to share your life with me.  I could tell that it hasn't been easy living away from your husband and children and that you miss them.  I was grateful to hear about your legacy and the extraordinary life that you've lived in almost 90 years.  You have so much to be proud of and thankful for. 

I'd love to hear more about the dances in the halls and what it felt like to raise seven children and how you managed when you felt overwhelmed or unsure.

Mostly, I'd just like to be another person to share your life.

Love to you,

Kelly

In a time when I do a lot to mitigate my aging, I am reminded that being connected to those who have come before me...particularly, strong, courageous women...is a gift, an honor, and an opportunity, not to be squandered.